AMROU AL-KADHI
Trauma patients are notorious black-and-white thinkers. After being diagnosed with complex PTSD last year, one of the first things I learnt in trauma therapy was how emotionally binary I can be. I identify as non-binary and have always tried to approach my creative work and life with fluidity — intellectually and spiritually, I feel anything but black and white in my approach.
Emotionally, however, the grey area has always terrified me. It’s a contradiction in my psychology I’ve only recently reckoned with. This is common for trauma patients, because those past experiences have taught us to become hypervigilant, sensitive to the minute changes in people’s behaviours and the world around us. Our mind and body have learned to protect us by approaching absolutely everything with a sense of impending catastrophe. The trouble is, in our adult lives, these protective modes aren’t always useful. In most cases, they’ve really outstayed their welcome. But given they feel so integral to our sense of survival, it takes a profound amount of work to tell them to rest now, that we don’t need them sticking up for us anymore.
Black-and-white thinking can really obstruct our happiness and peace. Let’s say I’m writing a movie, and I pitch it to 10 places. I receive eight passes and two great offers. An objective success. But the black-and-white trauma mindset perceives any failure as entirely catastrophic, and my body cannot allow me to experience the good news. I have objectively failed, my CPTSD mind tells me.
Take this scenario: I have a great date with someone I’m seeing, but we have a minor argument during an otherwise wonderful evening of hot sex and stimulating conversation. The next day, my brain might try to convince me to perceive the date as an abject failure, where I have been rejected for my innate worthlessness. A drop of bad news in an ocean of good, can, for trauma patients, be perceived as a destructive oil spill. It can be hard for anyone to reassure us because our nervous sys
